


The Watermelon

by escapay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, Derek Hale is a Softie, Gen, Humor, Just some general silliness in a world that is much too dark for these poor battered kids, Multi, Some implied pairings but nothing concrete, Underage Drinking, at some point scott and stiles sing cuban pete from the mask, lots of swearing, season two, sleepy werewolves, that stan sure is cheap but i guess in the end it worked in their favor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapay/pseuds/escapay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has some pretty serious business to discuss with Scott McCall, but it all ends in disaster for him when he realizes that the night he scheduled (well, more like demanded, but what does it matter?) the meeting for is also the night Scott invited his friends to hang out at his house. Even worse, Derek brought his pack, thinking this would teach them to be a little more serious. Instead, thanks to alcohol, Uno, Erica, and a tequila bottle, his headache is only getting worse and worse. By the time he's almost ready to just get up and leave his pack there, Scott's dared Stiles to steal a watermelon with a person of his choice, piss drunk at three a.m. and if he's being honest, there is some sick satisfaction to be found in watching Stiles fail after being the source of his headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watermelon

**Author's Note:**

> My friend, [memisa101](%E2%80%9Darchiveofourown.org/users/memisa101/pseuds/memisa101%E2%80%9D), helped me brainstorm this fic out in a series of hilarious text messages and car conversations.

Derek growls at Scott, sitting cross-legged across from him. This was so stupid, he thought pointedly in Scott’s direction. He wanted to have a meeting, not some lame teeny bopper get together.

Then he catches a glimpse of Erica’s blonde hair and remembers this is all _her_ fault. Being an Alpha sucked. The night had started out well enough…

* * *

Derek had considered coordinating a meeting date with Scott, but then he thought that was way too mundane and troublesome. It was probably better to just demand a meeting on that night anyway. So he did.

Scott had knitted his eyebrows in response. “I kind of have plans.”

Derek had cornered him aggressively. “I kind of don’t _care_ ,” he growled. “We have important things to discuss, Scott.”

“…Okay, I guess. Do what you want, Derek. You’re the Alpha, right?” Scott finished sarcastically.

Scott brushed Derek’s hand off his shoulder where it was probably cutting off his circulation, grinned cheekily, and left. Derek frowned.

This smelled weird.

* * *

It had smelled weird for a reason, he thought bitterly to himself as he arrived at Scott’s house with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac in tow. That reason was that it actually _was_ weird.

Fuck Scott McCall.

Admittedly, he should have been more suspicious of Scott’s sudden acceptance of his request. Not that he had really requested it anyway, but still.

The last thing Derek had expected when he showed up at Scott’s house was to find a group of teenagers lounging in a circle, playing Uno.

Fucking Uno, for Christ’s sake.

“Scott, what the hell is this?” he had angrily whispered to the teenage werewolf, his eyes dangerously close to glowing red. “What part of ‘important things to discuss’ didn’t you _understand_?”

“I told you I had plans, Derek. I never said I was going to cancel them,” Scott answered evenly, with Erica letting out a good humored snort. When Derek turned around to glare at her, she shrugged and leaned against Boyd. Derek turned around to face Scott again.

“So you invited the whole damn Brat Pack over? I mean, Stiles I expect, but _them_ too?” he nodded his head in Allison and Lydia’s direction.

Allison was grinning at Stiles, who looked just about ready to burst out laughing. Lydia, on the other hand, looked absolutely _done_ with this werewolf bullshit. She glared at Derek from across the living room. “If this meeting is so damn important, why don’t you just have it already?”

Stiles lost his shit and started laughing, and Derek growled in response. Scott smiled and scratched the back of his head. “She might be on to something.”

“Fine,” Derek spat out, motioning for his pack to come sit down with the rest of them.

* * *

As Derek had said, the meeting was actually very serious and full of important things that they honestly should be discussing. But he had asked really rudely, so Scott thought it fitting that he feel a bit uncomfortable while the meeting was going on.

As the night went on, Scott and Derek suggested different strategies to deal with all the problems around Beacon Hills. Naturally, Derek shot all of Scott’s ideas down for being too lenient and idealistic, and Scott shot all of Derek’s down for being too dangerous and violent.

It had been about an hour and half later when Erica had sighed heavily, rolling onto her back on the floor. “Are we done now? I’m so damn bored already.”

Derek glared at her. “Yes, Erica. We’re done. Let’s go,” he commanded, getting roughly off the floor using his arm.

Erica had a different idea, however. “You can go; I want to stay.”

“What?”

The surprise had been collective at Erica’s reply. She rolled her eyes and pouted in Isaac and Boyd’s direction. “I want to play Uno,” she whined.

Derek looked absolutely aghast. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He plopped down on Scott’s living room couch, his face in his hands. “Why am I even an Alpha? Do you ever fucking listen to me? Oh my god.”

“Wow,” Allison muttered, leaning towards Lydia. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard him say at once.”

Scott and Stiles looked at each other and couldn’t help the explosion of laughter that followed. This was just _too_ good. Erica sat up and crossed her legs, reaching over to collect all the Uno cards.

“I _do_ listen to you. But all work and no play makes Erica a dull girl,” she pleaded.

Derek slowly took his face out of his hands, glaring at Erica with a look of utter disbelief. Unfortunately for him, Isaac seemed to agree with the blonde, nodding his head. “All work and no play makes for a dull pack too, if you really think about it,” he added conspiratorially.

When Derek faced Boyd, he just shrugged and scooted closer to Erica, who was already dealing the cards. Groaning, Derek just maneuvered himself off the couch and onto the floor, scowling the entire way down. The ratio is three to one, these traitorous bastards.

He looked up to meet Scott, who smiled. “C’mon, Derek, live a little.”

Derek felt anger bubble up inside him, this hot fury threating to ooze down to his hands. He swallowed it down swiftly, but couldn’t help thinking that this serious pack meeting had gone to shit, all because these teenage _turds_ had to have their stupid fun.

Yeah, you heard him. Turds. The whole lot of them.

“Are you playing then?” Allison had casually asked him, and he had grunted in response.

“Whatever.”

* * *

Derek had thought that with the end of the Uno game would come the end of this horrifyingly childish get together, but Stiles had pulled out a bottle of tequila somewhere near the end and Derek had accepted his fate. This night wasn’t ending any time soon, and if they got drunk, neither was this Uno game.

It would appear that Melissa McCall was working the night shift at the hospital today, and that he wasn’t going to make it out of here without a pounding headache. He had begrudgingly taken a swig of the tequila, knowing full well that even if he did drink the whole damn bottle, he’d never get as buzzed as these idiots were going to be.

Erica had laughed at Isaac’s horrified expression when he was informed that he could no longer really get drunk. “No one told me about this beforehand! Where’s the justice here?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Look at it this way, if you’re ever close to death, you’ll actually fucking live.”

Isaac glared at him. “If I’m close to death, I’d rather get piss drunk.”

Derek sighed as he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. It was going to be a long, long night.

* * *

Stiles had slammed the Uno card down, throwing his hands up in the air uncoordinatedly and slurring out “UNO!” at the top of his lungs. He had followed this with an enthusiastic whoop that was cut short by Lydia’s hand covering his mouth.

“Shhh,” she said very seriously, clearly slightly inebriated herself. “You’re really loud, Stiles.”

Stiles nodded, swallowing with some difficulty, because although he was drunk, he was sober enough to register Lydia’s warm hand on his lips.

“What? This was so short,” Erica had pouted, slouching onto Boyd and kicking her feet up on Isaac’s lap. “Can’t we play some other game?”

Derek resisted the urge to just smash his head against the wall repeatedly, until he was bloody and battered and, if he was lucky, unconscious. He honestly hoped no one had any bright ideas. Unfortunately, his hope was destroyed when Allison, who had her head on Scott’s lap piped up. “What about truth or dare?” she asked. “An oldie, but a goodie.”

Erica’s eyes had lit up. “Ooh, now you’re talking. But how about we make things a little more interesting?” she’d added, grabbing the bottle of tequila and swaying it playfully from side to side.

Derek almost felt like crying. Goddamn it, he just wanted to go home, but he couldn’t just leave his betas out and about at night.

He glared at Scott at first, but then glared again at Erica. He felt another surge of anger, and a little bloodlust. Fuck them both.

Being responsible sucked. Being an _Alpha_ sucked.

* * *

The night continues with even more ridiculous shenanigans that test Derek’s patience. At the heart of them, he notices, is Stiles Stilinski. While obviously brilliant and unfortunately sarcastic while sober, Stiles was an idiot when he was drunk. A creative idiot, Derek would give him that much. However, it was his creativity that was the source of his frustration.

He had just dared Scott to sing the entirety of “that Cuban song from The Mask that I love man, you know, the one with the police ladies in the background” and Scott, who was completely and utterly _drunk_ from his lack of sleep, had gotten up, yanking Stiles up to sing and dance with him.

It is disastrous and cacophonous and his ears are probably _bleeding_ because he’s pretty sure the werewolf healing powers don’t have a clause for horrendous singing. He knows he’ll remember this for the rest of his life and though he admittedly almost cracks a smile when they start singing, near the end of the song the singing has turned into tone deaf yelling, and he’s one-hundred percent sure his headache is throbbing to the fucking beat.

“-CHICK CHICKY BOOM, CHICK CHICKY BOOM!”

Scott lands on his knee, throwing lopsided jazz hands in Allison’s face, who, along with the rest of the room, is laughing her ass off. Stiles tries to follow suit, but he trips over Scott’s outstretched leg, landing on his back and tumbling near Boyd, who is chuckling to himself.

Derek is the only one not laughing, glaring at Stiles furiously. His head is driving him insane, and most of it is his fault.

“You all right there, Sour Wolf?” Stiles asks, poking Derek’s boots. “You look _not_ very happy.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek replies dryly. “I probably won’t be until you’re face first in the ground.”

Scott grins, an idea popping into his head. He chuckles a few times before breaking into a fit of giggles, silencing the room. “All right, it’s my turn! Stiles! Truth or-“

“Daaaare,” Stiles sings out, using his forearms to push himself into a sitting position.

“I dare you to…”

“Yeah?” Stiles eggs him on, ready to have some fun.

“Steal a watermelon!” Scott finishes, cracking up at his idea. Allison stares at him, completely puzzled.

“A watermelon?” she asks.

“Yep,” Scott replies. “He has to go to the market and somehow steal a big watermelon!” He moves his hands away from each other, imitating the size of the watermelon, not realizing how ridiculous he looks. “Good luck, buddy.” He reaches over and pats Stiles’ back reassuringly. “S’okay if you can’t, but you should totally try anyway.”

Stiles scratches his chin in thought, teetering slightly in his position. “Can I bring somebody with me?”

“Hmm, sure, I guess,” Scott says, nodding his head very solemnly, like it was very serious business. “It is a big watermelon.”

Ignoring Derek’s scoff at Scott’s reasoning, Stiles let his eyes roam over the candidates. Allison was way too sleepy to go with him, if the blanket she’d cocooned herself in was anything to go by, and she was only slightly buzzed, so she still had too much sense to go get a watermelon at three in the morning with him. Erica was out automatically because she scared the living shit out of him a lot of the time. Boyd seemed like he wouldn’t be particularly enthusiastic about stealing a watermelon. Isaac was too cynical right now, mostly because he wanted to be drunk and couldn’t. Derek was out. Pfft, Stiles thought. Like he’d steal a watermelon. Going with Scott was so predictable he was sure Derek would scoff again, but this time it’d be so loud that phlegm would dislodge in his throat and he’d sound French.

That left Lydia. If he had been sober, he probably wouldn’t have been so brave. Good thing he was piss drunk, he thought as he stood up and extended a hand to Lydia. “You think you could steal a watermelon drunk?”

He had meant it as a question. An earnest, sheepish ‘Lydia could you please not turn me down’ kind of question, but Lydia was definitely too drunk to really zero in on that tone in his voice. Instead, she interprets it as a challenge and gives him a dirty look. “Of course I fucking can,” she announces, ignoring his extended hand and shooting up way too quickly. The room was spinning, but she didn’t allow herself to fall over. Not now, because right now she was confident she could steal a watermelon drunk, and she had to make sure everyone else was also confident in her ability. Teetering off to the side would give off the impression that she couldn’t even walk straight.

Stiles had retracted his hand and stuck it in his pocket awkwardly as Lydia walked past him and out the house. He follows, but managed to spin around in time to give Scott a thumbs up.

“Are we just going to take his word for it that they stole a watermelon?” Isaac asks as soon as the door had closed.

Scott stretches, yawning so hard his eyes get watery. “’Course not. We’re going to follow them.”

* * *

Stiles had seriously not thought this through. He _had_ though, just not in the way he should have. He had planned from inside the store and onwards, but transportation details had been a little sketchy in his head, he admits.

That’s why he had Lydia with him, though. She was smart enough that she’d come up with something where he fell short. The alcohol was catching up to him now, and he was feeling giggly. Chuckling slightly, he leans on the wall and asks her, “Hey, how’re we gettin’ there?”

Lydia stops in her tracks so quickly that she almost falls from the dizziness that follows. “What the fuck do you _mean_ ‘how are we getting there’? Stiles!”

He grins at her lopsidedly. “Lydia!”

She glares at him, her eyebrows furrowing in irritation but a smile playing on her lips, because he was drunk as shit and it was kind of fucking hilarious. “Well, we can’t _drive_ , you’ll kill someone.”

“Duuuh, we can’t drive. My Jeep would get hurt.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. Right, the _Jeep_ would get hurt. She sighs and grabs his forearm. “Then I guess we’re walking,” she decides, pulling him away from Scott’s house and trying to come up with some way to steal a fucking watermelon. She could do it, of course. She was Lydia Martin.

But she was also a really _drunk_ Lydia Martin who suddenly realized that she really had to pee.

* * *

They were hidden, watching her lead Stiles down the street. Isaac snorts, turning to face Scott. “You call this genius?”

Erica snickers, and Derek sighs. Honestly, he just wants Stiles to steal the watermelon as soon as possible. He had wanted to see Stiles fall flat on his face, but at this point, he wants to go home and _sleep_. He was a werewolf, not a vampire. Allison laughs slightly but shakes her head as if to say they’d see. Scott grins back up at them, clumsily crouching down to the floor. “Watch.”

* * *

Lydia’s breath hitches as she walks inside the market. It was cold outside, but it was slightly colder in the store. Stiles was walking behind her, distractedly staring at magazines. They finally make it to the produce section, and she walks towards the watermelons. They were huge, and round, and her eyebrow furrowed. How the hell was she going to steal this fucking watermelon? There were cameras almost everywhere. She let herself shiver slightly as she folded her arms. She suddenly felt something soft and warm envelop her and she looked up and met Stiles’ brown eyes.

“Here,” he says softly, placing his hoodie over her shoulders. Lydia felt a soft smile play on her features. Even piss drunk, or maybe because she was piss drunk, she thought it was a pretty sweet gesture on his part. And then he opens his big mouth. “Stick the watermelon inside it. You’re a lady. Be pregnant.”

Mentally scolding herself for thinking Stiles Stilinski had actually successfully done something almost suave, she turns to face him, irritation clear on her refined features. “No! Absolutely not.”

Stiles grunts in consternation and reaches for his hoodie. “Then I’ll do it.”

“What?” She slaps his hand away. “No. I’ll do it. You’ll look absolutely ridiculous.”

He grabs the watermelon and walks her to a relatively secluded spot, helping her put it inside of his hoodie. Thinking it was way too suspicious to just walk out with a watermelon up his hoodie, Lydia scanned the aisles for something cheap to buy, but Stiles beat her to it, grabbing about four chocolate bars and wagging them in front of her face. Rolling her eyes, and making sure to keep her hands under her “belly”, she leads him towards the cash register.

There were three registers open, but she chooses the one directly in front of the exit. They weren’t going to waste time talking, or anything like that. As if to spite her, the cashier smiles at her after ringing up the chocolate. “How far along are you, sweetie?”

“Um…” Lydia finds herself saying. She knows she looks about ready to burst, but she also knows that pregnant ladies, for some reason, always answer in weeks instead of months and her head is so not up for bullshit like that when she’s this inebriated. Coming to her rescue, Stiles answers for her. “She’s 32 weeks.”

Lydia jumps slightly, surprised that he can do this math, but she can’t, especially since she knows she’s much better at math than he is. The cashier is also obviously surprised, but smiles warmly in Stiles’ direction. “It’s good to see you’re so prepared to be a father. Not many young men would be”.

Lydia smiles, feeling a bit petty after her lack of mental math, and says charmingly, “Oh, it’s not his.”

The cashier’s jaw drops. “What?” As Stiles opens his wallet to pay for the chocolates, he grumbles, “The watermelon is _mine._ ”

The cashier glances at them wearily, clearly a little off-put by their behavior. “Watermelon?” Lydia smiles sweetly. “It’s our nickname for it.” Seeing the cashier momentarily reassure herself, she leans into Stiles, and says, “You’re going to ruin it. Shut up.”

With an intoxicating smile at the cashier, Lydia smiles and starts heading for the door, allowing herself a head start before Stiles can fuck this up for them. Then again, she thinks to herself, even if they made a run for it, there were probably cameras and his dad was the sheriff. Or was that a good thing?

“Uh, Lydia…” Stiles’ raspy, suddenly slightly-more-sober voice makes her stop too suddenly, and the watermelon lurches slightly down, stopped only by her hands holding it in place. “I’m a little short.”

 “What?” she hears herself squeak out, her voice becoming shrill. Stiles notices too, because he glances over and witnesses the most embarrassing loss of composure she’s had in weeks. In her shock, her mind racing much too quickly about how suspicious and striking they’d be in the cashier’s memory (that pregnant lady and her husband who couldn’t afford chocolate, she can see it now), she drops the watermelon.

For a split second, everything is silent.

Then the watermelon starts rolling towards her, right through her legs, because of course it wouldn’t break, _of course_ they could still succeed, because she was Lydia Martin, and he was Stiles Stilinski, and this stupid, tiny store in this stupid, tiny town was on a stupid, tiny hill and that would be their salvation.

And then just as suddenly, the world starts moving again. They lock eyes with the cashier, her expression even more confused than it was before, but there was understanding seeping into her features, Lydia could tell. Lydia locks eyes with Stiles right as she realizes this, and starts running after that goddamned watermelon because _they are not_ _losing_ , not to Stupid Scott or Angsty Derek, who probably needs a therapist, in her opinion, since alcohol doesn’t seem to work on him like pills do on her.

In the few seconds it takes her to turn around, Stiles slams the money down on the conveyor belt and bolts out the door, the watermelon rolling out of the store with Lydia in front of him. Then he runs back in, his eyes flashing with sleep deprivation and drunkenness that he knows must make him look unhinged. He grabs the chocolate bars he had almost forgotten in his haste, yelling out “I REGRET NOTHING! TAKE THAT SCOTT!” into the cold night.

She turns to face Stiles, who was catching up to her with a crazed look in his eyes and his lips grimaced in concentration. She was laughing now, the rush of adrenaline in her body combining with the alcohol in her system to create a sound that she’ll be embarrassed to remember in the morning. He sweeps in next to her, picking up the watermelon with one arm and grabbing her hand with the other, pulling her faster and faster downhill and away from the store. He lets her go in a burst of adrenaline and he jumps into the night, whooping out loud. “FUCK YOU, DEREK!” This prompts a snort from Lydia, who is now running in front of him, racing him to Scott’s house, a challenge Stiles is only too willing to take.

As the cold wind hits their flushed, grinning faces, three cashiers stare at each other in shock, wondering what the fuck they’re going to tell their manager other than “you really should have installed those cameras months ago, Stan” and a pack of werewolves guffaw and cry from laughter while running much, much faster than Lydia or Stiles could ever dream of doing, joining the race home.

The only one with a grimace is Derek Hale, but even then his grimace is transforming to a wide grin, because when he runs faster than all of them, no one can see how amused he really is by all this. And it’s on nights like these, with these ridiculous teenagers, that he feels like maybe whatever he missed out on in high school is actually right here.


End file.
